


speech

by Zekkass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Bondage, Character Study, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Hand Jobs, Possessive Behavior, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 12:36:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8578780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zekkass/pseuds/Zekkass
Summary: "Let's talk," Elita One says, moving around to his front, tipping his optical casing up with a finger.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For harutemu, who requested Elita One/Shockwave and got more Chromia than bargained for, but that's how my muse wanted this written. Contains a lot of headcanons as per usual and my own thoughts on how G1 could get its act together, if it would just try diplomacy.
> 
> Also contains possessive Chromia, because I cannot help myself.

Shockwave only realizes he isn't alone when the gentle touch of a vibroblade rests against his neckcables, and when realization comes, he stills his motions, hand stilling and systems slowing.

It is an absolute that he is about to perish, this moment only prolonged so the mech may whisper some vindictive message, defiance against his rule.

He spares one of his final moments in sentiment; regret that he has failed Megatron so thoroughly, that he is about to cede control over the space-bridges to someone not a Decepticon.

The rest are analytical dissection of his defenses to explain how this intruder is here.

The vibroblade eases away from his cables, and a hand replaces it, rubbing the juncture between his neck and optical casing.

"Guardian of Cybertron? Megatron left you with a hefty title, Shockwave," purrs an unfamiliar voice. It takes deca-seconds for him to retrieve the voice print from his memory banks, long enough for her to gently squeeze his neck, the vibroblade tracing a pattern along one of his finials.

"Elita One," he says. "It was unknown when you would return." There had been a well-timed attack to prevent the Autobot's Ark from departing unscathed, and units had been forced to refrain from boarding it - including the one led by Elita One.

He took credit for that. The balance of power on Earth had been easier to secure with the lack of her strike units aiding the Autobots.

"I'm back now," Elita One says. "You're as careless as ever."

"I have never been careless," Shockwave says, pride stung.

"Really! I've sampled your energon, Shockwave. Your traps weren't clever enough, and now I'd like to sample you."

A glitch in her processors, left over from long years in stasis? Shockwave's processors catch on that illogical statement, unable to reconcile it with the known facts about Elita One: she's close with her units only, professional to the hilt, and loyal to the Autobots.

Yet he lives.

"Explain your motives."

"I need you alive," Elita One says. "I've demonstrated that I can kill you, and _yes_ I have backup. So you and I are going to talk while I have some fun."

Sentiment is set aside. She is speaking the truth, and in order to serve Megatron he must survive. So he kneels as Elita One directs, allows her to cuff his servos and place a jammer on his helm so that he cannot open his comms.

"Good mech," Elita One says, the vibroblade vanishing into her subspace as another mech walks into the room, rifle propped against one leg as she walks. Files are quickly accessed, and a designation produced: Chromia, Elita One's favored subordinate, comparable to Soundwave.

Sentiment rears its ugly head: he does not like her purely on that basis. It is an old, professional jealousy, one that displaces itself onto mechs like Prowl and now Chromia.

Chromia gives him an unimpressed look, subspacing the rifle at some unspoken signal.

"Let's talk," Elita One says, moving around to his front, tipping his optical casing up with a finger. "I've got a lot to say to Megatron about the war, and you'll relay all of it to him faithfully."

"Of course," Shockwave says. He could be affronted at the perceived insult, but it _is_ the truth. He is utterly loyal to Megatron.

"Our war needs to stop," Elita One says, dropping her hand from his frame, her head tilted so she can look directly into his optic. She's treating him as if he were little more than a camera, and in a sense, that's all he is at this moment.

That is a thought that he could enjoy, in other circumstances.

"Cybertron's within orbit of a star again, thanks to you, Megatron. I've seen the scans: the energon reservoirs are filling up again. Shockwave hasn't been slacking, either; his warehouses could feed armies, thanks to his converters and the efforts of your forces to ship energon from Earth. I say there's room for a treaty, now that our numbers are so few. Give up your plans for enslaving humanity, leave Earth alone, and _come home._ We want to rebuild too, and let me be _exceptionally_ clear for your thick processor, Megatron: we can't afford the loss of more people. If even one mech dies, now, we lose another piece of old Cybertron. Yes, I know, you hate it. I hated aspects of it too - but it's gone. Even if you all dropped dead today we couldn't rebuild Cybertron as it was.

So we have to move on. The war has to end, before someone like Ratchet goes offline and takes all of his medical knowledge with him. _Don't_ try to sell Hook as an equal to me, Megatron. We need them both if we want to be certain we're not vulnerable to some ancient disease we defeated once.

Send this message to Optimus Prime, Megatron. You two have to work out a treaty. I'm the incentive back home, ready to terminate Shockwave and claim all of these resources for the Autobots and tip the balance of the war entirely in our favor - and Optimus? It wouldn't be worth it."

She waves a hand, and Shockwave nods, making a note to end the recording there. Not that he hasn't continued to record, if only for his own memory banks.

"It won't end the war," Shockwave says, and she shakes her head.

"I'm right and everyone knows it."

He can't dispute that.

"Now," Elita says. "I promised you some fun."

Ah. Yes.

Shockwave's optic brightens, just a little bit, and he notes the way Chromia's expression goes completely stony.

Division in the ranks? Or simply the irritation Soundwave harbors for Starscream?

He is _not_ Starscream, and holds no ambitions for himself.

Elita One recaptures his attention, tilting his optical casing back up as she strokes a finial.

"Say otherwise and we're gone," Elita One promises. He tilts his head slightly, acknowledgement. Consent. Whatever Elita One wants to do to him now he will allow, provided it doesn't compromise his security further.

She smiles, panels opening as her spike extends. It's proportionate with her frame, bright white with pink highlights, and if he had glossae he would want to touch them to it. As it is, he has nothing.

"Chromia," Elita One says. "Come here. I'd like to overload on his pretty optic."

The rifle vanishes into subspace as Chromia joins them, standing just behind Elita One and wrapping her arms around her. She smirks at Shockwave as she wraps her fingers around Elita One's spike, stroking it in clearly practiced motions.

This is something he can never have with Lord Megatron, and sentiment rears its head again - but he sets it aside firmly, optic trained on Elita One's spike. He will enjoy the motions of Chromia's hand and the way Elita One's biolights pulse, evidence of rising charge and a happy mech.

If he had his own equipment he would request that they touch it. He has none of his own, and so he handles his charge the way he always does: by storing it, allowing it to pleasantly infuse his circuits with that sweet tingle as he stores the power as ammunition.

Elita One's engine revs, and she moans, sounds he tags for review later. Her biolights speed up - and it's over too soon as she overloads on him, covering his helm in transfluid. Chromia offers his fingers and Elita One licks them clean - and then she leans forward to gently hold his finials as she licks _him_ clean too.

It's enough to set charge skittering across his frame again, and he makes a soft helpless noise, unaccustomed to any touch - _any_ kind touch - 

"Make this peace happen and I'll visit again," Elita One murmurs, her optics bright. The calculation in her field is only fuel to his sudden desire, and he repeats the noise, unable to say anything.

Once he's clean - she leaves. It takes hours for his drones to find him and free him.

The first thing he does when he's free is call Earth, intent on passing her message onto his lord.


End file.
